


baggy sweaters

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: There’s just one thing he didn’t anticipate. In retrospect, when he noticed his closet thinning out considerably, it should have occurred to him. When Gene showing up in one of Babe’s shirts started to become an everyday occurrence, red flags should have gone up. It’s a testament to Babe’s love (and his willful ignorance) that he refused to acknowledge the problem until it became a problem.





	baggy sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

There’s actually not that much of a height difference between Babe and Gene, which winds up being really convenient. It’s a surprise at first -- Gene doesn’t look tall, not in the lanky, hasn’t-quite-grown-into-his-limbs way Babe still hasn’t shed from his teenage years. Babe first met Gene while he was sitting down, so when the attractive guy he’d been hitting on suddenly stood up to be almost eye-level with him Babe had been taken by surprise. (He also found it hot, but this is nothing unusual. A lot of things about Gene are hot.)

It winds up being a great thing, for one reason -- clothes.

The first time Babe takes Gene back to his place for the night, Gene stumbles out of his room the morning after wearing a baggy sweatshirt. Babe pauses what he’s doing at the stove for a minute just to stare, because in no way was he prepared for this. He _knows_ that sweatshirt -- hell, he was wearing that sweatshirt a few days ago, and really hopes he remembered to wash it since then.

It looks lightyears better on Gene that it ever did on him. The fabric hangs off of Gene’s thinner frame attractively, making him look like he’s wrapped in a blanket. He knows Gene has a fondness for baggy clothing, but it’s different seeing his boyfriend in oversized sweaters and seeing him wearing Babe’s oversized sweater. It’s so different that Babe doesn’t even notice his eggs are burning until Gene looks over his shoulder and says, “Heffron, if you start a fire, I’m not helpin’ you put it out.”

Babe scrambles to rescue breakfast. By the time he’s got everything edible on plates, Gene has made himself comfortable at the kitchen table. He still looks drowsy, and the way he’s slumped over the table makes him look even more like he’s sinking into Babe’s sweatshirt.

“Hope you don’t mind,” says Gene. “I couldn’t find my shirt.”

Gene’s shirt is probably somewhere lost in the mess of Babe’s room, wherever it was tossed last night. Babe vows he’ll find it later, but for now he can’t take his eyes off of Gene wearing his clothes.

“Gene,” he says, “you can borrow my clothes anytime.”

And he means it -- really. He couldn’t mean it more. Every time he sees Gene wearing an article of clothing that he recognizes as belonging to him, the rush of euphoria is comparable to a roller coaster ride. He falls a little bit in love all over again. Babe could live with Gene wearing nothing but his clothing for the rest of his life.

There’s just one thing he didn’t anticipate. In retrospect, when he noticed his closet thinning out considerably, it should have occurred to him. When Gene showing up in one of Babe’s shirts started to become an everyday occurrence, red flags should have gone up. It’s a testament to Babe’s love (and his willful ignorance) that he refused to acknowledge the problem until it became a _problem_.

“Uhh -- Bill?” he says, poking his head in his roommate’s doorway. He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels, but there’s little hope there. “Can I borrow a shirt?”

Bill sits up, and the smug smirk on his face lets Babe know that he’s given himself away. He and Gene haven’t exactly been subtle about their clothes exchanges. Bill had been the one to tell him just a few days ago that if Babe wasn’t careful, soon he wouldn’t have any clothes left in his closet.

Babe isn’t willing to give Bill the satisfaction of being right, so he holds his ground until Bill crosses his room, pulls a shirt out of his closet, and tosses it to him.

“You’re going to ask for them all back, right?” he calls to Babe’s retreating back.

“No chance.”

“You’re a sick man, Babe!”

Babe knows, and he loves it.

Still, he’s willing to admit that the clothes shortage is a problem. He can’t keep wearing Bill’s shirts forever (they reek of a weird mix of strong cologne and Guarnere-musk, which will probably start to cling to Babe soon) and he actually really likes some of his own clothes. But does he like them more than he like’s seeing Gene wearing them?

It’s the problem of a lifetime. Babe is ready to resign himself to a life of shirtlessness. There’s _no way_ can he steal his shirts back when he loves seeing Gene wear them so much.

That’s when he remembers a very important thing: he and Gene are just about the same height.

The next week, Babe walks out of his Gene’s room wearing one of his boyfriend’s baggy sweaters, and Gene chokes on his coffee.


End file.
